


Shattered

by phantisma



Series: Splintered [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dubious Consent, Incest, M/M, Sex Pollen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-11-19
Updated: 2007-11-19
Packaged: 2017-11-15 00:18:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/521038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phantisma/pseuds/phantisma
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean is splintered and cracking and held together only by his need to make it okay, to help his father accept what has happened and make sure Sam is happy…but the pressure keeps multiplying and the fight may be more than any of them can stand.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shattered

**Author's Note:**

> Please read the warnings. There is incest involving all three Winchesters. It is not pretty. This is dub to non-con, depending on how you read Dean's choices and how they all play out. There is also consensual sexual activity. There is angst (which may be the biggest damn understatement in the world). Also, under-age (Sam is 16)

_You were sixteen when it started, and no one could lay the blame at your feet, though you do fine taking all the blame yourself…and so does he…the only one not full of blame is Sam…who is happy…who smiles more now than you remember…And it’s so wrong…the way he gives himself to you, the way you can’t help but take what he’s giving…and it’s fucked up…seriously fucked up…but you can’t bring yourself to change your mind…you’re weak…and you let them hold you, let the pressure of them contain your splintered pieces…And Sam is wrong…because this will never be okay…but if it keeps them alive and with you, if it keeps the family together…then it’s something you can live with…_

 

The first few days were the hardest. They watched him, every move, every breath. Dean was nowhere near convinced that his father was okay. How could he be? He knew now.

John Winchester knew what he had become…and how can anyone be okay after that? He was quiet and withdrawn, more so than usual. He didn’t talk, barely looked at either of them.

Sam made sure he ate, made sure the weapons were hidden away. He smiled and he cuddled into Dean at night. Happy. Sam was happy.

Dean moved through each of those first days as if nothing had changed. He made breakfast and sent Sam off to school. When Sam came home he went out and hustled pool to make enough money to buy food…but it’s fucking Fresno and there are only so many bars, and he’s running out of new places to work.

It doesn’t happen for a while. They stumble through a week. Two.

“Stop.” John said as Dean shuffled through the room, clearing the morning’s coffee cup, still full of coffee and last night’s plate still covered in half a hamburger.

“Stop what?” Dean asked, turning back to look at him.

He was in the rumpled bed, the sheet tucked tight around him, as if covering himself was somehow protecting both of them. “Pretending this is okay.” John grumbled.

Dean felt the panic inside, the same panic that had been picking away at him since Sam opened his mouth, since Sam had forced the whole thing to a head. He swallowed and put the dishes down, moving closer to the bed. John cringed and Dean stopped.

“I’m not pretending.”

It was a lie. They both knew it.

“Dean.” He didn’t look up, his eyes stayed on his hands, hands that looked so much older than they had days before. “I want you to end it.”

“No.” Dean crossed his arms and stared down at his father. There was a lot in his life that was fucked up and wrong. That couldn’t be helped; he was a hunter and a Winchester. But he was sure that what he’d done to keep his father alive was the right thing to do.

“I’m telling you Dean, as your father. You go get a gun and you bring it in here and you kill me.” John’s eyes lifted. There were tears and quiet determination.

The front door slammed and Sam stormed in, past the hall and into the kitchen. “We’ll talk about this later,” Dean said. He picked up the dishes and headed for the kitchen. Sam was lifting the bottle of Jack, dumping it straight down his throat. “Little early for heavy lifting isn’t it?” Dean asked dryly.

Sam looked at him, his face red. He licked his lips and put the bottle on the counter. “We gotta go.”

“Go?” Dean sighed and set the dishes in the sink. “Where? Why?”

Sam shrugged and shook his head. “We just gotta. I don’t care where.”

“Sam, it’s the middle of a semester, we can’t just go.”

“We’ve done it before.” Sam countered.

“What happened?” Sam didn’t walk away from school easily, something had to have happened. Sam had been nothing but happy for days.

“Nothing happened.”

“You’re lying.” Dean put his hands on his hips and looked at his brother. “Sam, come on. I’m trying here…I need you to be honest with me.”

Sam’s face twitched into a grimace and picked up the bottle again. “I got called into the counselor’s office today.” He took a swig and didn’t look at Dean.

“What? Guidance counselor? Had to expect that, they start pushing you to do the college thing earlier all the time.”

“No, Dean.” He swallowed more, then handed the bottle to his brother. “Someone saw.” He lifted his shirt to show the finger shaped smudges of blue and black on his hip and side, marks made when Dean was riding him into the table a few nights before. “Someone knows.”

Dean shook his head. “Knows what?”

Sam gave him a look that very clearly said he thought his brother was being stupid. “Us, Dean. This!” His hands motioned between them. He was clearly agitated.

“Okay…calm down.” He couldn’t make sense of what Sam was saying. How could anyone know anything?

“Calm down? Dean…you don’t get it. We have to go. Tonight. We can’t wait.”

Dean crossed to him, put his hands on Sam’s hips and pulled him close. “Sam, we’re fine. No one knows anything but that you have a few bruises.”

“Damn it Dean!” Sam pulled away, his face contorted in rage. “They can take me away, they can take you away! I stalled them, told them they were wrong, told them I got them playing football, but Dean, they’re going to call the police in. They’re going to call Child Services, Dean.”

Dean shook his head. Sam was no child. Sam hadn’t been a child since he was 9 and learned how to handle a sawed off shotgun.

Sam was pushing him toward the bedroom. “Get your shit, I’ll get Dad.”

 

 

_It’s two-thirty in the morning when you’re finally ready and Sam pushes you out the door. Dad’s in the back seat of the impala, half asleep on whatever pain meds you had left because you can’t face him, can’t tell him why. Fresno fades in the rear view while they sleep and you try to understand. You don’t know where you’re driving, you just keep moving because when you stop you know that all of those splintered pieces are going to come crashing down around you._

 

“Pull over.”

His father’s voice, gravelly and slurred a little from the drugs, startled Dean out his thoughts. “Pull over.”

His head rose up in the rear view mirror and Dean licked his lips. “We’re in the middle of nowhere, Dad.” Dean said. His father’s eyes were dark, and his hand was heavy as it fell on Dean’s shoulder.

“Dean.”

Dean nodded, glanced aside at Sam asleep beside him. It was only a little while to dawn, the dark starting to shrink back at the edges of the horizon. “Can you hold on? Just a little bit. There’s a motel up ahead.”

The last thing they needed was to get caught fucking on the side of the road.

His father sat back, his eyes closing. Dean stepped a little harder on the accelerator, praying that he could get them to the motel, get them into a room before his father fell fully into the dark.

He snickered a little at the thought of praying. Even if he believed in a god, there wasn’t a god out there who would hear him. Not after everything he’d done.

“Dean.”

The growl was deep and made Dean’s cock twitch.

“I know. Just hold on.”

His eyes flicked to his father’s in the mirror. The need was getting strong. “Fuck.”

Sam stirred beside him. “What’s wrong?”

Dean shook his head and glanced over his shoulder. “Dad.”

Sam sat up and looked at their father. “You should pull over. Deal with it.”

“It’s almost daylight. What do you want me to do?” Dean put his foot down harder. “There’s a hotel up ahead. Twenty minutes. Tops.”

Sam nodded, yawning and stretching. “Maybe I can hold him off.”

Before Dean could say anything, Sam had his seat belt off and was sliding over the back seat. John’s tone changed and Dean could tell just from the sounds that Sam was kissing him.

“Sam.”

“Just drive.” Sam said. “I got this for now.”

Dean tried not to notice the tiny whimpers that told him their father’s hands were rough as Sam did his best to placate him. He tried not to hear the sounds of a zipper, of a mouth on a cock, of the grunts. He didn’t want to see the way Sam’s back was arched, or remember when it had been him and Sam in that back seat.

He concentrated on the road, on wrenching the car into the gravel parking lot. He got out and made for the office. He was hard and anxious and no one was answering the bell. He pounded on it again. It was only five in the morning.

He started when the door opened. An older man shuffled out, scratching his balls. “What?”

“Need a room.” Dean glanced over his shoulder. He could feel his father’s eyes.

It took forever, but eventually he had a room key and he was able to move back out to the car, drive it around to where the number 9 room was. He opened the back door of the car and pulled Sam out. “Get our stuff.”

John was glaring at him, his cock standing straight up out of his jeans, wet and shiny from Sam’s mouth. “Come on Dad, let’s get you inside.”

“Need.” John growled and Dean nodded.

“I know Dad. I know. Inside, then you can have whatever you need.”

He fisted a hand in his father’s t-shirt and yanked. It was worse than when he was drunk. “Sam, door.” He pressed the key into Sam’s hand, and helped his father up, turning them to follow Sam and kicking the door closed.

They stumbled and grappled until they were in the room and Sam was pushing the door shut as Dean just let go. His father pawed at his clothes, pulling his jeans down and shoving him to the bed. Sam was there instantly with the lube, the question in his eyes.

Dean just closed his and turned his face away. A second later he felt Sam’s fingers and the cool of the lube, but his father wasn’t waiting. He pulled Sam’s hand away and pushed himself inside. Dean bit the comforter under his head to keep from yelling.

It was bad. Waiting always made it worse. John’s hands were like iron on Dean’s hips, there would be bruises come morning, shaped like fingertips with tiny crescents etched into the tips.

“Dean…” Sam’s voice cut through the pain and reignited his own cock. His fingers were gentle on Dean’s face, turning him to look, his kiss tender…so strange and surreal.

“Sam.” Dean unclenched his fingers from the comforter and reached for Sam, pulling his face in close. There was a hint of peppermint on his tongue. Dean clung to him, groaning as his father’s rutting increased and pressed Dean’s cock into the mattress. Dean could tell he was close…then his father would stumble off to the other bed and sleep…and they’d start all over again when they woke up.

“It’s okay.” Sam whispered as John pushed in and came. Sam’s lips moved over Dean’s face, tiny kisses along his brow and down his nose.

John was done, out…Dean was hard and needy and he couldn’t help but groan himself as he rolled over onto his back, his jeans around his knees, his cock standing up. He was panting, reaching to finish himself, but Sam’s hands caught his, pulled them away.

Sam’s jeans were gone, his ass glistened with lube and he was already straddling Dean’s stomach, positioning himself, lowering himself until the tip was nestled into his hole. “It’s okay Dean…we’re okay.”

Dean shuddered as Sam pushed down and Dean slid inside his brother. It was so far from okay, but Dean held on, his hands settling on Sam’s hips as he started to move, grinding down against him, his head thrown back in pleasure as his own hands moved over Sam’s cock, pulling up with each downward push.

He could feel his father’s eyes as he came back from the bathroom, feel the disgust and self-loathing pooling on the dirty carpet around his feet. Dean closed his eyes and concentrated on finishing…on ending this for now. His breath stuttered as he approached orgasm, as Sam’s ass clenched around him and he thrust up into Sam’s next downward push, emptying himself and reaching to help Sam finish.

Sam’s come fell in heavy strings against Dean’s chest, and almost before he was done, Dean rolled him to the bed, pulling out and angling for the bathroom to shower, leaving Sam to deal with their father and securing the door.

 

 

_Twelve hours. You squat there in one of the worst motels you’ve ever seen for twelve hours, watching him sleep, watching him suffer, watching him shuffle to the bathroom and listening to him throw up over and over again. Still you tell yourself he’ll adjust, that he’ll be okay…that you’ll all be okay. You don’t sleep, and somewhere near dawn you let yourself out of the stifling room and struggle to breathe_.

 

Dean pulled at the neck of his shirt, pulled until it ripped and leaving him standing bare chested outside the room. It was still more dark than light, though there was a strip of crimson along the horizon, red like blood cutting through the sky.

He shook off the feeling of suffocation and dragged air into his lungs. It was easier outside the room, where he couldn’t hear his father’s tormented dreams, couldn’t feel the heat of his brother’s skin. Out in the cool of the not-quite-dawn he could pretend he was alone, that none of it was real.

The air was cold, and the hair on his body stood up in protest as he moved stiffly to the car. They needed to keep moving. Dean opened the glove box and pulled out the worn map. He tracked the road out of Fresno to figure out where they’d ended up. Middle of nowhere, with a whole lot of road between them and anything that resembled a population.

He had to get them someplace that would let Sam finish up the year. He ran a hand over his face and found a spot, a few days south, small town. Sam could finish the year and they’d move on before whatever happened in Fresno caught up with them.

Wearily, Dean sank onto the passenger seat, his eyes closed. Fresno. Where everything went to hell. Where John Winchester learned he had become one of the things he had always hunted. Where John Winchester learned his sons were fucking one another as a way to cope with the fact that he was fucking one of them.

Fresno.

Where Dean saw for the very first time just how fucked to hell they’d all become. He shoved the map back into the glove box and took out the gun nestled there. In the urgency of his father’s need the night before he’d forgotten it.

He held it, cradled it in his hands.

The metal was cold. The weight of it echoed the weight of his secrets.

_You should have killed me.” John said. “Should have fucking killed me, Dean.”_

It was only weeks ago and it feels like years. Dean stared at the gun and imagined pulling the trigger. Imagined leaving his father dead in the woods somewhere. He’d have Sam.

He sighed and tucked the gun back into the glove box.

_You drive south and east. You watch your father in the rear view as he cycles through anger and denial, through depression and vague acceptance. You feel Sam beside you; end up with his head on your shoulder. You hold on because they need you. You hold it together because you can’t fall apart. And you go in search of normal, safe._

 

“You have to go to school, Sam.” Dean said, looking at Sam with what he hoped was a meaningful stare.

“Since when do you care about school?” Sam countered, sitting next to their father and shoving a bowl of cereal in front of him.

“Because it’s how you get out of this shit.” Dean responded, taking his own seat with a half a glass of Johnny Walker. He sipped at it, hoping it would take the edge off.

“Nice, whiskey for breakfast, Dean?” Sam shook his head. “You really are messed up.”

“Whatever. Just…go to school. Learn. One day you’ll be a doctor or a lawyer or something.”

“Right.” Sam rolled his eyes. “Dad, eat your breakfast.”

John’s eyes met Dean’s across the table.

“Your brother’s right, Sam. Go to school.”

They both looked at John. It was more than he’d said in days, the first time the words coming out of him haven’t been a variation on “kill me”. He picked up his spoon, shoveling cereal into his mouth.

Dean watched his father closely. Sam looked at Dean and Dean could only shrug. He didn’t know what changed or why. “Dad? You…okay?”

John drained the milk from the bowl and looked at him. “Do I have a choice?”

“I’m not going.” Sam said suddenly. 

John’s big hand came down onto the table with a thump and both of them jumped. “Get your ass to school. And be prepared to do some training when you get home,” he growled.

“Yes sir.” Sam pushed his chair back and left the room. Dean heard the front door shut and turned to look at his father.

“Neither one of you have been training properly.” John said, standing to clear his dishes. “That ends today.”

Dean nodded, not really sure how to react. “Yeah, Dad. Whatever you say.”

“That’s damn right, Dean. I may be fucked up and fucked over, but I’m still your father.”

Dean stood. “You think I don’t know that?”

“The way you’ve been acting, I have to wonder.”

“What is that supposed to mean, Dad?”

John grabbed his glass, dumped it in the sink. “Lay off the booze.” 

“Whatever.” Dean started to walk away, but John’s hand caught his arm and hauled him back.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“We’re out of money. I figured I’d go find a job while we wait for the new credit cards.”

John shook his head. “No. I’ll do that. You take care of your brother.”

Dean felt his stomach clench. “Dad, you can’t. What if…what if it happens while you’re out there? You could hurt someone.”

His father’s face got hard, his eyes dark. “I do hurt someone Dean. Every fucking time.”

Dean shook his head. “No. No you don’t.”

John dragged a hand over his haggard face. “You can’t expect me to just sit here Dean.”

He reached a hand for his father’s arm. “No, I know. I just…I want to make it okay.”

John’s voice lost some of its passion. “It won’t ever be okay.”

“I know.” 

They stood there for a long time before John shuddered. “Go on. I’ll stay here and set up some training for when Sam gets home.”

Dean wasn’t sure he should actually leave him, but he wasn’t kidding about the money. They had a few bucks and not much else, and the food they had wasn’t going to last but a day or two. 

It was the kind of town that didn’t have much in the way of pool halls and the bars were rough and tumble. Honest labor wasn’t his strong suit, but he’d done it before. 

By the end of the day he hadn’t found much. He could hear his father putting Sam through his paces in the back yard. It sounded real. Normal. He left the bag with bread and a few necessities on the table and let himself out the back door, minding the rotting boards on the one side of the porch. He’d left himself five bucks to start playing with that night at the bar.

Sam was running an obstacle course, carrying something heavy, with their father barking orders at him. Dean smiled watching. Sam stumbled, fell to the ground and rolled clear, coming up cussing. He spotted Dean and held up a hand. Dean could tell they’d been at it a while. Sam was sweating, his clothes dark with it., muddy and grass stained. 

John turned and threw a towel at Sam’s face, barking at him to go get cleaned up. Sam wiped his face and they both started toward Dean. “I got some stuff for dinner.” Dean offered as they got close enough. “Not much, but I’m going to go back out, shoot some pool.”

“Go on, shower your scrawny ass.” John said to Sam. “I got the water on. Won’t be hot, but we’ve had worse.”

Dean nodded. He followed Sam into the house, with his father behind him. He emptied the bag while Sam went to shower, and John sat in the chair watching him.

Everything seemed okay. Sam came back and they ate dinner together. John smiled fleetingly and Sam laughed like there was nothing wrong. Dean wolfed down two peanut butter sandwiches and went to change his clothes. 

He grabbed the keys on his way to the door. “I’ll be a few hours.” 

“Mind if I tag along?” John asked, his expression hopeful.

Dean stared at him for a minute then nodded. “Get some sleep Sammy, we’ll be home later.”

Sam waved tiredly at them without moving from where he was trying to read by candlelight. “I saw a bar that looked good. There’s poker and a pool table,” Dean said as they got moving.

“You got stakes money?”

“A little.” Dean said.

“Drop me at the bank. I think I got one card left that isn’t maxed. I’ll get us what I can.” He pointed at the walk up ATM a few doors down from the bar. Dean stopped long enough for his father to get out, then drove down to the signal light and turned around, parking the car near the bar. 

Led Zepplin leaked out the door as he approached, a good sign as far as he was concerned. He paused a moment in the door, his eyes sweeping over the scene. Two tables of poker, two pool tables, a few dart boards in the back, and a sizeable crowd for a Tuesday night. 

Dean moved through the place, marking a spot near a pool table. He leaned against the wall, watching the current players, getting the lay of the land. He was just about to step in and join the fun when his father’s shadow fell over him. He could _feel_ him coming.

Dean’s eyes moved from the pool table to his father. John’s thick fingers shoved money into Dean’s front pocket even as he leaned forward, his face flushed. “Need.”

It hadn’t hit him yet…but it was coming. Dean nodded and looked around. “Alley.” 

His fingers lingered in Dean’s pocket as Dean pulled off the wall and headed for the side door. As soon as they were outside, Dean maneuvered them so that John was against the wall and went to one knee. He made quick work of the zipper and his cock was already hard. He looked up and watched it settle over him. “Okay, easy. Let’s do this fast.”

Dean took him in his mouth, hoping that it would be enough. A few minutes later John grunted and came. Dean turned and spit onto the concrete. “Better?” he asked as he looked up.

John was blushing but he nodded. 

“It’s easier when we catch it fast,” Dean said, getting to his feet. 

John nodded again. “I’m going to see if I can get in on a poker game.”

“Okay. I’ll work the pool tables.”

John finished tucking himself in and moved ahead of Dean. Inside they separated again, John off to the front, Dean up to the bar. “Shot of tequila…and a beer.”

He threw the shot back, letting it wash the taste of come out of his mouth before grabbing the beer and tossing some money on the bar. He turned to the nearer table, watching a young kid getting his ass handed to him by some guy who had hands that made his pool cue look like a toothpick.

A quick glance showed his father seated at a table. He looked okay. Dean didn’t think he’d ever recovered so fast from a flare up. 

“Hey.”

He blinked back to his immediate surroundings. There was a man very much too close and stepping closer. Dean held up his hand to stop him. The man had a small wad of money between two fingers. He reached for Dean’s pocket with an eyebrow raised.

“I think you maybe you have the wrong idea.” Dean swallowed as the guy leaned in close.

“Saw you. Want what he got.”

“I’m sorry. It isn’t what you think.”

“I think he slipped some money in your pocket so that you’d suck his cock in the alley.” The man smelled of whiskey and cigarettes. He was his father’s age, maybe older, built hard like he’d worked his whole life with his body. “Now I think I get the same, or I take you for a little ride.”

The hand not holding the money poked at Dean’s hip and he looked down. Fuck. The bastard was a fucking cop. “It…he just owed me some money, dude.” Dean shifted on his feet, reached for his beer. “I’m not a whore.”

“Bullshit.” Those fingers dug into Dean’s pocket, shoving the money in and yanking him away from the bar. Dean staggered toward the side door, following helplessly. He shook his head, trying to clear the buzzing. This wasn’t happening. He grabbed at the doorframe, looking back at his father, hoping he didn’t see, and yet all the same, hoping he would. John Winchester wouldn’t let his son go to his knees for anyone.

Except that he did. 

It was fairly obvious he wasn’t getting a choice. The cop tugged and Dean let go of the door, stepped out into the alley, just like he had moments before. He could do this. It wasn’t all that different. 

His heart was racing and his stomach hurt. The man opened his fly and pulled his cock out. Dean took a deep breath as he went back down to his knees. He licked his lips. “Do a good job and maybe I’ll tell my friends.”

Dean shivered and tried to put the thought out of his head. Tried not to think at all. Just do it. Just get it over with. He opened his mouth and willed himself not to throw up as he sucked the cock into his mouth. It was nothing like Sam’s or his father’s. Smaller, thicker. 

Stop thinking. Dean closed his eyes and licked over it, then closed his lips around it. The man’s hips snapped forward and Dean let him take control, let him fuck into his mouth. He made a strangled, strange cry as he came, and Dean turned and spit, watching the sticky mess land beside him.

The man patted his head as he tucked himself in. “Not bad. See you around.” 

Dean stayed there on his knees in the alley while the stranger went back inside. With a shaky hand, he pulled out the wad of bills the man had shoved into his pocket. Fifty dollars. He tried to shake it off. Told himself it was nothing. He was okay. It was over and he was fine.

He slowly pulled himself back up, went back to the bar, got another shot, finished his beer. Moved to the table before anyone else got the idea that he was some whore who’d go to his knees for a few bucks.

 

_By the time the night is over, you’re up almost $300 between the two of you. You try to tell yourself it’s okay, that he doesn’t know, that he didn’t see. You try to pretend you aren’t some whore who went to his knees in an alley behind a bar for some strange man with a badge. Try to deny that a part of you thinks you could do it again if you had to._

 

Sam wasn’t happy in the school. He got into fights and complained. John wasn’t happy sitting home with nothing to do. Between them Dean was miserable. Days crawled by. Sam went to school, Dean cleaned their weapons and hid them away again. John poured over newspapers and planned training. 

At night Dean went out. Most of the time he went alone. He moved around the town and the neighboring ones, into the city even, dive bars and nightclubs. He hustled pool, played poker. When those wells dried up, he sat at the bar and drank. 

Once or twice the cop showed up. Once or twice Dean found himself up a few extra bucks for a few minutes of pretending he was someone he wasn’t.

He didn’t even fight it anymore. It was easier to just nod, take the money, suck the cock and down tequila to kill the taste. It was easy enough money, and as long as no one knew he could take it. It was almost easy.

He rested his head on the back of the seat, watching the house, wondering if Sam was still awake. The cop had brought a friend that night and Dean had a pocket full of cash after a good run at the pool table and two quick blow jobs in the alley. 

Problem was the tequila and the smell of sex had him horny. He shifted and climbed out of the car, yawning as he made his way over the dirt that pretended to be a lawn. He was surprised to find his father sitting up with a bottle. It didn’t feel like it was one of those nights.

One look told him it was something else entirely. “Is this what I’ve turned you into?”

Dean looked at him, staring. “What?”

“I saw you Dean.”

His head was ringing, shards of himself were falling all around him. “No…I just…”

John shook his head. He was otherwise still, that scary stillness that only came when he was so far beyond angry and he’d boiled it all down inside of him. “Sam told me why we left Fresno Dean.”

Dean couldn’t think, couldn’t make words meet up in coherent phrases. “He thought…he thought someone knew.”

“He told me his counselor though he was being sexually abused. And we ran. And now we’re here and you’re turning fucking tricks.”

“No…just…this cop, Dad. He saw me…with you. He threatened to take me in.” Dean closed his eyes, but he only saw the dicks he’d sucked in that alley.

“But you still take his money.” John said, standing slowly. He put his hand in Dean’s pocket, pulled him close. His breath was whiskey-tainted. His fingers came out with the wad of bills and he held it between them.

“You take his money and you bring it home and feed your brother with it. You come home from sucking his cock and you go upstairs and make your brother suck yours.”

“I don’t make Sam do anything.“ Dean was scrambling, trying to catch up. He sucked in air and forced himself to look at his father, at the pain etched in every line on his face. He didn’t understand the anger, couldn’t reconcile it, couldn’t figure out where it was coming from and where to go to appease it. Make it okay.

“You did this to Sam, just as sure as I did it to you.” John said. “I thought we could find something normal in all this. I thought you were okay, Dean.”

Dean shifted closer. “I am okay. See, I’m right here. I’m okay.”

John’s hand moved and Dean saw the gun for the first time. His breath caught in his throat. It was worse than he thought. His mind raced over their weapon inventory, trying to figure out where the gun came from. 

His father knew he was a whore, knew he took money for something that he’d only done for his father before now. His father knew he was falling apart and if Dean couldn’t keep himself together, he had no hope of holding the family in one piece.

“You’re not okay Dean. You’re a fucking mess. Look at you...just look. Every time you walk out that door you give away a little more of who you are.”

Dean shook his head. No. He couldn’t let it fall apart now. His stomach was acid and hot pokers. He moved so that his hand could slide down his father’s arm to the gun. He was barely breathing, could hardly remember how. 

“I’m right here, Dad. I’m okay. You’re okay. Just give me the gun.” He could do this. All of this. Hold it together. Make it okay. “Please, Dad.”

They both looked down at the gun. “End it.”

“No.”

“If you don’t, I will.”

Dean pressed his body in close to his father’s. “No. We need you.”

There was a quiet struggle, but slowly John let go of the gun, let it slide into Dean’s hand. He sagged and turned away. “Wash that mouth before you go kissing your brother.”

Dean sighed as his father’s bedroom door closed. The gun was heavy and he pulled the clip, breathing a sigh of relief to find it empty. He lifted the bottle of whiskey and poured some in his mouth before he headed up the stairs to the room he was sharing with Sam.

He wasn’t surprised when Sam sat up in the dark, reaching for him as he put the bottle on the dresser. Instead, Dean dropped the gun into Sam’s hand. “What’s this?”

“You tell me. Dad had it.”

Sam rubbed at sleepy eyes. “I don’t recognize it.” 

Dean’s skin felt tight, pulled and stretched over bones so brittle they might break from the pressure. He pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. His chest hurt, his stomach churned. It was all so wrong. No matter what he did it was wrong.

“Come to bed.” Sam said softly, shifting the blankets to make room. 

Dean shook his head. “No. Don’t want to.” He took a step toward the window, then stopped, holding his stomach.

“Dean, you need sleep. You don’t sleep enough.” Sam’s voice was gentle as he climbed out of bed, padding on the cold floor to where Dean stood. “Let me help you.”

“It’s all falling apart Sammy.” Dean’s words slurred a little on the alcohol and fading fear. “Can’t hold it together without you.”

“Right here, Dean. I’m right here.” 

“Have to hide them, can’t let Dad leave us.”

“Dad’s not going anywhere, Dean.” Sam guided him down into the bed and laid beside him, one hand stroking lightly down Dean’s face. “Sleep, baby, everything will be better in the morning.”

 

Dean was alone when he woke, the bed cold. The sun coming in the window told him it was well past the time he would normally be up. He could smell coffee and bacon. He moved cautiously through the house, as if he expected someone to jump out at him. His father stood at the camp stove on the counter, pushing bacon around in a pan.

Wordlessly, John handed Dean a cup of coffee. “Got tired of not getting my caffeine.” 

Dean took the cup and perched on the chair by the table. They were squatting, hadn’t intended to stay. Figured they’d have an apartment or something by now. “Sorry,” he muttered, sipping at his cup. It was dark and strong, like his father preferred it. 

A few minutes later John set a plate of bacon and eggs in front of him. “Eat.”

Dean picked at the eggs, feeling as though his entire life was shattering around him. 

“Found a hunt.” John said quietly. “Next town. Spirit takes out truckers on a stretch of road.”

“Dad—“ Dean shook his head, not really sure what he was objecting to. “Are you—you can’t go alone.”

John held up his hands. “We go together. Sam’s fine on his own.”

Dean licked his lips. It was what they did. What they were. Despite everything.

“I need to do this.” John said. “I’m going. It’s time we get back to doing what we do.”

Dean nodded. “Wait until Friday, and I’ll come with you.”

“I’ll pull our kits together, restock them. There’s a Catholic church in town?”

“Yeah.” Dean lifted his fork, forced the food into his mouth. His father seemed so normal. Dean shivered. It was okay. He swallowed the words with his eggs and washed it down with coffee.

 

_You’re not sure what to make of this, of him…some part of you was certain he’d never come back to you, but here he is, all normal, aside from the part where you both know he’s going to need you again. But he ignores it and so do you, just like always. You make sure Sam’s going to school. At night you train and in the dark you let Sam curl around you and you try to believe that maybe it will be okay, maybe…just maybe your brother was right and you can do this and everything will be okay._

 

Dean felt good to be back out on a hunt. It was familiar, right. The spirit turned out to be a dead hooker that was killed by a truck driver 18 years before. It also turned out that Dean and his father weren’t the only hunters who had gotten wind of the haunting. It was two in the morning and they’d just missed it, though they’d managed to distract it enough that its target got away.

Dean recognized the truck and tapped his father’s shoulder, pointing. “We got company.”

John squinted in the direction of Dean’s finger and shivered. “Jim.”

Dean nodded. “Stay here. I’ll talk to him.”

“Dean, I can handle—“ Dean turned and pinned him with a stare.

“We can’t afford anyone finding out. Not even him.” Maybe especially not him.

Dean hadn’t forgotten the knowing look, the expectation hanging between him and the older man that day when he found out the options for handling this thing that had settled into his father’s body.

“I’m fine.”

Dean squeezed his hand. “Please. Let me deal with it.”

He left John standing by the car and crossed the old highway, his boots crunching on gravel as he moved closer. Pastor Jim was getting out of his truck as Dean waved hello. “Fancy meeting you here.”

Jim smiled a little, his eyes skipping over to John. “Been trying to reach you boys. Last I knew you were in Fresno.”

Dean felt the stir of panic and swallowed. “Wore out our welcome.”

“How are you?” Jim’s eyes narrowed as he looked at Dean, and it felt like he was peeling back the skin, staring into the guts of who and how Dean was.

“We’re good. Real good.” Dean couldn’t meet his eyes. Jim would know he was lying. “We’re hanging a few towns over and heard about this, so we thought we’d take it out.”

Jim nodded. “Is your Daddy okay?” His eyes were firmly on John now. Dean turned to look over his shoulder. 

Shit. Even two hundred yards away he could see it coming. He had to get them out of there. “He…he hit his head. I should probably get him home.”

“Maybe I should come along.”

“He’ll be fine. Head like a rock, you know?” He backed off a step. “It was good to see you though, Pastor Jim.” Dean turned on his heel and headed for his father. It was coming on him, but as Dean got closer, he could see his father was fighting it. “Get in the car. We have to go.”

He didn’t move right away, his eyes tracking Jim as he got closer. “Dad. Now.”

John nodded and moved to the passenger side, his movements stiff and slow. Dean breathed a sigh of relief when his door closed. He got behind the wheel and started the car. Jim was right there, looking in the window. Dean tried to regulate his breathing and opened the window.

Jim bent over, his head in the car. “You okay, John?”

Dean held his breath as his father’s head turned. The dark in his eyes had nearly taken over. “Jim.” John’s hand moved jerkily to the back of his head, rubbing. “Fine.”

“Like I said, bump on the head.”

“That’s more than a bump on the head.” Jim said, his face set and grim. 

Dean could feel his eyes, could feel the accusation in them. His heart was pounding. He had to get them out of there. “Please. I need to take him home.” His voice was scarcely above a whisper, but fervent. He couldn’t look at Jim, couldn’t look at his father. He sat and held the steering wheel and waited.

Slowly, Jim stepped back. “I’ll handle this. You get your father home.”

Dean nodded and threw the car in gear, spraying the road in gravel as he stepped on the gas and aimed them away from Pastor Jim and his accusing eyes. “Just hold on Dad.” 

“Dean.” His name was filled with urgency and need and Dean spared his father a glance. They weren’t going to make it home. His eyes scanned the woods that lined the road. He’d find them a place to hide. Find them a place to deal with the problem.

“Hang on.” 

It was a dirt road, barely big enough to hold a car. Dean pulled them onto it, drove them deep into the shelter of the dark trees. He half expected Jim to come howling up the trail behind them. He was panting even before he put the car in park. 

John lurched up, dragging Dean across the seat and out of the car. “Need. Hurts.”

Dean was clearly not moving fast enough. It was going to be violent. He tried to brace himself, but John’s hands threw him against the trunk. Dean’s wrist slammed on the edge and he cussed, trying to adjust. The darkness had taken over though and John shoved him down.

Dean’s cheekbone hit metal hard. His vision swam. 

There was a sound like ripping and Dean’s jeans fell. 

Dean tried to brace himself for the pain, his fingers scrambling weakly over the metal and glass, looking for something, anything to hold onto. Well before he was ready, his father’s cock shoved into him.

It hadn’t hurt like that in a long time, no lube, no nothing, just the dark need and his father’s cock inside him. The car rocked under him and Dean could do no more than take what his father dished out, squeezing silent tears out of closed eyes as he whispered the mantra of _it’s okay_ into the surface of the car.

When it was finally over, John stumbled backward and Dean slid bonelessly off the car, curled up and struggling to breathe. He was hurting, he was _hurt_. His face was swelling and bleeding. His left wrist thrummed with pain. His ass screamed and burned as hot liquid oozed from him. 

He heard a sob and looked up. His father sat under a tree, knees drawn up to his chest, staring at Dean, tears streaming over his cheeks. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” he whispered over and over in a horrified mantra that made Dean’s stomach clench.

Dean dragged himself over the mossy ground, cradling his wounded wrist, moving slowly as his body registered the pain. He crawled over to his father, pulling himself up to his knees because he knew he wouldn’t be able to sit just yet. He reached for his father, but John flinched and pulled away. Dean took a deep breath and reached again, cupping his hand to his father’s face. “It’s okay, Dad. I’m right here. I’m okay.”

He leaned in and kissed him. They both stiffened. He hadn’t kissed him since that night…since Sam had told him the truth, since Dean and Sam had seduced him. 

“It’s okay.” Dean whispered, leaning in again, his kiss more purposeful this time. His tongue touched his father’s lips and met resistance. “Let me love you.” His words burned with need, and John’s mouth opened, accepting the words and the burn. His legs slid down and Dean ended up nearly in his lap, their tongues tangling around as the kiss transcended the violence of moments before. 

Dean moaned into his father’s mouth when John’s hand circled his cock, which until that moment had been limp and uninterested. He gasped as the dry big hand moved over the tender skin and John’s mouth slipped from Dean’s lips to his neck, sucking lightly and kissing away the sting.

Four years and it had never been this. This is what he had with Sam. Dean couldn’t bring himself to argue, feeling the warmth of his father’s skin, feeling the affection in the tenderness. He arched up, filled his father’s hand with his cock, tilted his head back, offering up more of his neck for his father’s tongue and teeth.

“Dean.” It rumbled into him, from John’s lips into his own throat, quaking through him until he came into his father’s fist. John’s mouth worked back to his, his tongue sliding over parting lips, licking up Dean’s panting, quiet _it’s okay_.

Dean would have been content laying there in his arms and sleeping, but he knew better. They had to get home. Back to Sam. Back to the safety of…well, of being together. He shifted and tried to get to his feet. 

His vision swam and his ass burned like nothing he’d ever felt. He came down hard on his knees.

“Dean?” 

He looked to his father. There was a dark stain on his leg. Dean squinted at it. “What?” In the dark it looked like blood.

“Fuck, Dean.” John pushed him forward, one finger moving over his still bare ass. “Shit. Shit.” Dean could feel him wiping away the come that he could still feel oozing out of him. “You’re bleeding.”

“I am?”

“I hurt you. Really hurt you.” His father was cussing, and any minute they would be back to the horrified apologies. John pressed him down, touched him. “God, Dean.”

“I’ll be fine.” Dean insisted, trying again to get up. He had to be fine. He had to make his father understand. The world tilted under him and he was barely conscious of his father catching him, carrying him…then the movement of the car as he drifted away.

 

_You tell the doctors that it was just a rough fuck, that it wasn’t rape. But they look at your father with a look that you don’t like, and they tell you that you’re lucky the blow on your face didn’t shatter the cheekbone and when they leave you alone you huddle into yourself and pray he doesn’t fall apart now. The hospital gown doesn’t cover your sin and you feel like your shattered soul is on display especially when he leaves, when he leaves you alone…you don’t know how to be alone. You don’t know who you are without them on either side of you._

 

“So, Dean, your doctor asked me to come by and see you, before your father comes back to take you home.”

Dean looked up at her. She was pretty, petite. Her brown hair dusted the shoulders of her lab coat, and her brown eyes smiled at him from behind frameless glasses.

“I already told them. It wasn’t…anything. It…just got out of hand.” He felt exposed, afraid. 

“I know what you told them, Dean.” She sat in the chair beside the bed. They were keeping him overnight, because of the head injury. “I’m just here to listen to anything you might feel like talking about.”

“No offense, but I just want to go home.”

She nodded. “I realize that, but since you’re stuck here anyway, what’s the harm?”

He could think of lots of harm, actually. 

“I noticed that your father is a pretty big guy.”

Dean squinted her way. “Yeah? So?”

She shrugged. “Just making conversation, Dean.”

“You’re a shrink, lady, you’re trying to bait me into spilling my guts. It isn’t going to happen.”

“Did he do this to you, Dean?”

“What?” He looked away, crossed his arms. “No. He…he’s a good man, my Dad. Helps people.”

“Sometimes even good people can do bad things.”

Dean sighed. “My dad came and got me because my date got a little rough, okay? My…friend had already left when I realized something was wrong.”

“This friend of yours have a name?”

He knew she was trying to help. He knew she couldn’t begin to understand the world he lived in, or the choices he’d made to keep living in it. “Yeah, he’s a married man, you know?“

She leaned forward in the chair. “You do realize that we will be analyzing the DNA we found inside you. We will figure it out eventually.”

“I’m tired. I need to sleep.”

“Okay, I’ll go for now, but I’ll be back, Dean.”

“I look forward to it.”

The door closed behind her and Dean went into full panic mode, ripping the IV from his arm and climbing out of bed. He swayed a little as he went looking for his clothes. They were gone. His father was supposed to bring him some in the morning, but he knew they couldn’t wait that long. They had to move.

Before someone put it all together.

He peeked out the door, watched nurses moving around the floor. It was dinner time. He might be able to get away. He waited until there was no one at the nurses station, then moved out into the hall.

His head was pounding, his heart racing. His injured wrist throbbed under the wrappings. 

He needed clothes. He ducked into a room as a nurse came into the hallway. There was an old man asleep on the only bed in the room. Dean rummaged in the dresser and came out with a pair of pants and a shirt that smelled like old man. They were high waters, and his ass hurt, but he didn’t look like an escaping patient…other than the bare feet. The old man had feet like a thirteen year old girl. 

He moved slowly, ducking into a men’s room when his stomach churned. He could feel the pull on the stitches inside him as he retched into the toilet, and hoped they wouldn’t tear. He flushed and staggered back to his feet. The florescent lights made the gash and bruising on his face stand out against the pale of his skin. The cut itself wasn’t the worst he’d ever had, a thin jagged line that more or less followed his cheek bone.

It was swollen and tender. The eye above was black and blue. He sighed and made his way out of the bathroom. He didn’t want to chance the elevator, so he made for the staircase, then thought better of it when another wave of dizziness hit. He knew he didn’t have time for babying himself. With a head injury they’d be in to check on him every hour. 

The stairs were hard to navigate, between his head and his ass and the vertigo. He fumbled with the door on the ground floor, stumbled out and into the lobby. There was no way he was getting back to Sam and his father like this. 

He stopped and leaned against a wall, his eyes scanning the lobby. There was a family grieving loudly in one corner, children sitting dully on the couches. Nurses and doctors moved around him. 

“Dean?” 

He looked up and groaned. Pastor Jim was the last thing he needed. He was walking toward him, his left hand bandaged. “You all right son?”

Dean nodded. “Just want to go home.” 

Jim turned his head to look at Dean’s face. “That looks nasty. I’m betting they wanted you to stay overnight.”

“Don’t wanna. I’m fine.” He pushed himself upright and the room danced a little around him. 

“Where’s your father?”

“Sent him home for Sammy…don’t want to leave Sam alone.” He licked his lips and tried to focus. “We…I need to go.”

“Dean, I think you need to stay. What room were you in? I’ll take you back.”

“No. No.” Dean grabbed Jim’s shirt and held on to him. “You don’t understand. If I stay here there’s gonna be trouble. I need to go. Will you…could you take me home?”

Jim looked like he was going to argue, but then nodded. “Okay Dean. Okay.” He turned, slipped an arm under Dean’s shoulder to support him and together they moved out the sliding doors and into the cool evening. There was going to be rain. Dean could smell it.

“What happened?” Dean asked after they’d both gotten into the truck, pointing at Jim’s hand.

He smiled. “Took care of that ghost, but not before she crashed another truck. I cut my hand helping the driver get out.” He turned those intense eyes on Dean. “What about you?”

“I had a disagreement with the Impala. She won.” Dean said, his hand touching the bottom of the swollen flesh lightly.

“Last I saw you, you were taking your Daddy home?”

Dean forced his voice to stay calm. He was starting to feel like he was drowning. “Had to pee, pulled over…slipped, cracked my face. Dad brought me here.” Dean willed for it to be enough, for Jim to stop asking questions and just fucking drive already. His ass was screaming, the press of the old truck seat reminding him of each and every stitch that was holding together torn flesh from his father’s brutal fucking.

 

_You don’t want to bring him home, not when you don’t know what state of mind your father is in, or what he’s told Sam. Not when things went so bad so quickly. You don’t know what he’ll do if he knows. You don’t know if you can make him understand, because this thing is way beyond what it was when you first went to him, and it keeps escalating and it’s getting out of control…and maybe, just maybe you don’t really understand anymore yourself._

It was almost dark when Jim stopped the truck on the side of the road and they both looked at the house. The Impala was parked out front, passenger side doors open. 

Dean grimaced as he turned on the seat, putting his feet in the gravel at the side of the road. “You boys packing up?” Jim asked, looking at Dean with an expression Dean couldn’t quite decipher.

Dean shrugged.

“Three schools in one semester isn’t good. You know that.” Jim said. Sam emerged from the house, hauling a duffle bag.

“Sam’s a good student. He’ll make it up.”

“Not the point.” Jim said, moving ahead of Dean. He greeted a surprised Sam who looked at Dean with something like fear in his eyes. Before either of them could stop him though, Jim was on his way into the house. 

Dean moved toward the house, nearly falling when the dizziness was too much. Sam caught him and supported him into the house. They got there just as John looked up from his packing, his eyes going wide with surprise.

“Jim?”

Pastor Jim stopped, hands on his hips. “Want to tell me what the hell is going on here, John?”

Dean felt his father’s eyes, saw the concern and pain wash over his face. “What are you doing out of bed?”

“John.” Jim’s voice had an edge of anger to it and John’s eyes moved back to his friend.

He straightened up, licking his lips. “Just clearing out. Got a line on something down south.”

“You’re asking for trouble, hauling Sam out of school again.”

Sam helped Dean to a seat on the couch. “Not really,” Sam said and Jim turned to face him. Sam shrugged a little. “Got kicked out yesterday.”

“You what?” Dean asked, poking him.

Sam rolled his eyes. “Got into a fight.”

“With a teacher.” John finished. “I was getting us packed up and was coming for you in the morning, Dean.”

Jim’s eyes traveled the room, coming to rest finally on Dean. He seemed to be asking Dean something. Dean closed his eyes. “I’m tired.”

“You’re sleeping on the couch.” John said. “Where we can keep an eye on you.” He went back to throwing things into his duffle bag, glancing up at Jim. “I’d invite you to stay for dinner, Jim, but we only got peanut butter and some bread.”

“No…it’s okay.” Jim’s eyes flashed back to Dean. There was accusation in those eyes. Dean could almost hear his voice, _You said you’d deal with it_. 

John nodded but didn’t look up. 

Dean tried to move so he was sitting more on his hip than his ass without it being obvious. Jim knew. He knew. He was looking at John like he was some sort of monster. 

Sam sat next to him, pulled Dean to lean against him. His touch was soothing, warm. Dean closed his eyes and breathed in the familiar feeling. Jim didn’t move. He was just there, in the middle and they could all feel him, but no one said anything.

Dean opened his eyes as Jim licked his lips and seemed to make some decision. He came to where Sam was sitting next to Dean, his hand casually in Dean’s lap. 

Sam snaked his hand away, his face flushing. He stood and brushed a kiss over Dean’s forehead. “I’ll go get you a blanket and pillow.”

Jim watched Sam go, then turned to Dean, leaning in as if to check his cheek again. “You know I only want to help.” His voice was low, pitched so that only Dean could hear him. 

Dean nodded tightly, blinking back tears and trying to still the wild staccato of his heart. Jim nodded too. “Tell me what you need Dean.”

Dean’s eyes flashed to his father, who was moving away now too, moving toward the kitchen. They had to make Jim believe it was okay. “I’m okay.” Dean breathed. 

Jim looked over his shoulder as John disappeared into the kitchen. “Let me help you.”

Dean cleared his throat and took a deep breath, pulling himself together. “Thanks, but I’m really okay.”

“I can see that you aren’t.” Jim said, though he stood upright and ran a hand through his hair. “You can’t keep this up.”

Dean pushed himself up off the couch, swayed a little, but lifted his head. “We’re okay, Pastor Jim. I promise.”

Jim nodded slowly. “Okay. You call me when you aren’t.” He pulled Dean into a tight hug. “I mean it. If you can’t do it, I will.”

Then he was gone and Dean couldn’t breathe.

“Fuck. Fuck.” He gasped, spun around, sucking in air and hitting himself until John was there, grabbing his hands. 

“Dean. Stop. Focus.” His father’s voice was soft and it made something inside him ache.

He lifted his eyes. “We can’t wait for morning. We have to go now.”

“Not in the condition you’re in. You should lay down.” John tried to guide Dean to the couch.

“Dad, you don’t understand. They think you raped me.” Dean choked on the words, on the idea that anyone could think that, on the fact that it was very nearly true.

“I did, Dean.” John said, letting go of him and pacing away.

“No…no, Dad. It wasn’t like that.”

John stopped in the middle of the room. “I was there Dean, I saw what I did to you.”

Dean shook his head and tried to reach for him, but his body was too heavy to move. “No. You…it was my fault. I took too long. It’s worse if I wait…if I try to make you wait. And…and I didn’t have lube in the car…it was my fault.” 

He wanted to get back that moment after…when it hadn’t been that _thing_ inside his father, but his father there with him, opening up to his touch. “I love you.” 

John twitched, crossed his arms. He shook his head. Sam reappeared at the kitchen door. “We both love you.” Sam added, his voice soft. “It isn’t your fault.”

He moved into the room, up to John, sliding hands up over his arms. “Hey, look at me, Dad.” John stiffened, his arms falling to his sides. Sam kissed his cheek and put his arms around John, drawing him close. “It’s okay. Dean’s going to be fine.” They both looked at Dean. “We’re all going to be fine.”

John groaned as Sam’s hands slid over his back. “It’s okay.” Sam’s eyes met Dean’s and he nodded. “I’ll drive. You can ride in back, keep an eye on Dean.”

 

_Most of the ride is a blur. Two days, maybe three. You spend most of the first with your head in your father’s lap, like you’re a fucking child. His big hands are gentle as they stroke your hair, but when you look up into his face you can see the fear and anguish in every line. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him look so old, so worn thin._

 

The car stopped and Dean lifted his head from the back seat. “Where are we?”

His father was behind the wheel, Sam stretching in the passenger seat. “Near Denver.” His father sounded tired. “Lay still. I’ll get us a room.” 

Sam knelt on the seat and leaned over, brushing a hand over Dean’s forehead. “You had us worried.”

“Must have been worse than I thought. It’s better.”

Sam’s eyes sparkled with affection as he smiled lightly. “Yes, it is. We’re okay.” He looked out the back window. 

“Dad?” Dean asked, a knot in his stomach pulling a little tighter.

Sam nodded. “I think he’s okay, Dean. He’s been like himself. He’s let me touch him.” Sam licked his lips and smiled. “Here he is.”

John slid into the seat and his eyes flicked over Sam’s face, then to Dean and back. “We’re all set.” 

The car lurched forward and stopped again. Dean let Sam help him out of the car and into the room, sitting a little gingerly on the nearest bed. His ass felt better. His father moved out of the room and came back with duffle bags.

Sam stretched, his back cracking. “I’m gonna shower.” He grabbed his duffle, his hand catching on John’s. Sam licked his lips and leaned in, kissing John softly. Dean stared, waiting for the freeze up, for the reaction.

There wasn’t one. Sam slipped into the bathroom, his face all smile. 

“Wow. Um…” Dean cocked his head and looked at his father.

“It makes him happy.” John grumbled, dumping the bags on the bed beside Dean.

Dean didn’t answer, there wasn’t really an answer to something like that. John moved around the room, setting them up, marking the window sills and doorway with salt. When he finally sat it was with his back to Dean. They were on the same bed and Dean could feel him there, feel the weight of him.

“It isn’t right and I don’t like it. But you boys…you need me right now.”

“We’ll always need you.” Dean said softly. This sounded like his father accepting his place, but it felt a little like he was picking apart the splintered pieces…picking them apart and trying to reassemble them into something that resembled the boy Dean used to be.

“You need me now.” John countered. “Until you’re stronger.”

Dean shook his head and turned to say more, but Sam was there, dripping and beautiful in nothing but jeans. He was grinning and he laughed at some private joke. “Water’s good and hot.” He leaned over Dean, letting the cooling water drip over him. His kiss was sweet and tasted vaguely of something chocolate. “I’ll go get us some dinner.” 

Sam rummaged in Dean’s bag. “I’m borrowing, I need to do laundry.”

Dean sat numbly and watched. It was surreal, like they weren’t fucked six ways from Sunday. John got up and headed into the bathroom. It was odd. Wrong. Sam took the keys off the table and headed for the door. “Back in a bit.”

Dean was alone, his head pounding. His father was in the shower. Slowly, Dean stood and shed his clothes. He didn’t look in the mirror as he passed. He didn’t want to see this…see himself doing this. 

He slipped into the bathroom, into the small shower. His father looked startled, but Dean didn’t give him time to respond. He took his father’s face in his hands and pulled him into a kiss. He didn’t react, not for a moment, but when Dean let his tongue slide out to touch John’s lips, they slowly opened.

“Dean…what?” John asked, his eyes closed, as Dean pulled back.

“Need you to know.” Dean whispered back, his hands sliding over his father’s wet body, down over his flat stomach. “I need you. I need you to be here with me.”

“I’m right here Dean.” John said, his voice filling the shower even as his cock filled Dean’s hand.

“I want this Dad. I want us…even without…okay?” His kiss was a little more urgent as he started moving his hand over John’s cock, more teeth, more everything. He had to make his father understand. 

“Dean.” 

His lips pulled the sound into himself, letting it fill the cracks. “Need more…more than just that…need you.” Dean sucked his way down John’s neck, his free hand guiding John’s to where Dean’s cock was hard and pressed against his thigh. “Something to hold on to when the dark comes.”

Dean didn’t even know what he was saying, just knew he needed to keep talking, keep convincing. John’s hand matched Dean’s pace and it was awkward and they kept bumping one another, foreheads pressed together, breathing as one…and when Dean came he groaned and leaned into his father.

John came as well, moaning and turning his face away.

Dean heard Sam returning and backed off. “It’s okay Dad.”

John nodded, then tipped his face back under the spray. Dean got out and left him, wrapping a thin motel towel around his waist and moving out into the bedroom. Sam was setting out burgers and fries on the table.

He smiled and for a moment Dean was content with the lie. They were okay.


End file.
